


Have You Heard? There's A Rumor In St. Petersburg

by pure1magination



Category: Anastasia (1997), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, X-Men
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stucky Anastasia AU</p>
<p>in which Steve is the lost Romanov prince</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have You Heard? There's A Rumor In St. Petersburg

“Dat was our last ruble.”

“What! _I thought we had more than that!”_

“Don’ blame me, mon ami! Ah’m not de one dat wanted a new coat.”

“My old one was _completely_ out of style! No one was gonna take me seriously in that!”

“Ah’m jus’ sayin’, ya can’t blame _me_ fo’ yah hardships.”

“All right, all right, but what are we going to _do_ about it?”

“Ah could pick a few pockets…”

“God I hate when you do that.”

“Yah’ just jealous of my skills.”

“Am not! I’m a decent pickpocket myself!”

“Yeah? Den why ahre we down to our last ruble?”

“Oh fuck off. But we don’t wanna pick too many. God I’m so tired of being poor!”

“Dis whole city is poor.”

“Then let’s get out of here!”

“Where to, homme?”

“Paris.”

“…Paris.”

“Paris.”

“An’ how do ya plan to afford goin’ tuh Paris?”

“I don’t. Know.”

There is silence for a few moments. The two men, sitting across from each other in the corner of the bar, have thusfar been leaning over the table to confer. The one with the Cajun accent has chiseled features, perpetual five o’clock shadow, reddish-brown hair, and a tan trench coat. The other has striking blue-gray eyes, styled brown hair cut rather short, compared to his companion, and an irresistible cleft chin. He is always dressed impeccably, living above his means.

“How the heck did I get stuck with you again?”

“Because Ah’m charmin’?” He flashes the other man a smile.

The other man rolls his eyes. “So am I. Point?”

“And good-lookin’?”

“Again.” The man gestures to himself. “Point?”

“An’ ya didn’ wan’ tuh con all of Russia by yahself?”

He laughs. “Con all of Russia? If only! Wouldn’t _that_ be something.”

The man with the accent is silent for a moment, gaze far away.

“Seriously though, what do you even have to offer? You’re a washed-up magician, Remy. You can’t even do a decent _card trick_ anymore. All you’ve got going for you is your sleight of hand, your dashing good looks, your—,”

“Shh!”

“Sorry!” he says in a very sarcastic manner, affronted.

“con all of Russia…” the man with the accent mutters.

“What was that?”

“The prince!” Remy slams his hands on the table.

“What prince.”

Remy leans closer and speaks quickly, voice low. “De los’ prince, Steven Romanov!”

“Have you lost your marbles?” He knocks Remy on the head several times with his fist. “Steven’s been dead for ten years!”

“Ah know dat, an’ _you_ know dat, but is he really? Wha’ if we stahted a rumor tha’ de long-los’ Romanov prince is alive an’ well?”

“Okay… but what happens after that?”

“Imagine the rewahd his dear ol’ grandmama would pay.”

The man’s eyes slowly light up and a heart-stopping grin crosses his face, showcasing his perfect teeth. “Who else could pull it off but you and me!”

“We’ll be rich!” Remy rubs his fingers together.

“We’ll be out!” He laughs, pounds the table, and leans closer. “And St. Petersburg will have something to talk about.”

* * *

 St. Petersburg is abuzz with the rumor that the long-lost prince Steven Romanov is alive and well somewhere. There had been the odd rumblings about this, considering no one had ever found the prince’s body after the siege of the palace. A few claimed they saw him fall from a train. Every young man with blond hair was given a second glance on the street.

Far away from this all, an orphan boy named Steve has turned eighteen, and it is time for him to leave the orphanage. The cantankerous old woman who owns the place is cutting off his good-byes to everyone and giving him directions to a fish market down the street where he can get a minimum-wage job cleaning and gutting fish all day. Steve protests, insisting he has a clue to his family which he’d like to pursue.

The old woman rolls her eyes. “I know.” She grabs the necklace around his neck and scoffs, “Together in Paris. So. You want to go to France to find your family huh?”

Steve nods, glad she finally understands.

The old woman just laughs and shoves Steve through the gates. “It’s time you took your place in life. And be grateful, too. With your health, you ought to be dead.” She slams the gates behind him.

Steve is left standing out in the snow, one hand on his necklace, left with nothing but the clothes on his back. They are shabby and badly-fitting; everything he wears is too big except his shoes.

He walks to the fork in the road and stares at the sign for a while, debating which way to go. The fork to the left leads to a job at the fish market, a life of struggling for money and wishing he’d been born rich.

But to the right… St. Petersburg.

Steve clutches his necklace.

His decision is made. Never one to be content with the status quo, Steve takes the road to St. Petersburg. The walk is long and cold, he has a rattling cough from a combination of the weather and his asthma, and by the time he gets to St. Petersburg, most people just ignore the five-foot-four ninety-pound man with the gaunt cheeks, the too-large coat, and the hat covering most of his straw-blonde hair.

Steve finds a train station and asks for a ticket to Paris. He soon learns, however, that he is missing not only the money, but the proper documentation to go to Paris. The man at the window is anything but helpful.

An old woman standing nearby, though, takes a look at Steve and pulls him aside. She tells him that a man named Bucky can help. He’s at the old palace. She seems very secretive about this information, though, and urges Steve to leave and not tell anyone she tipped him off.

Confused, but hopeful, Steve makes his way to the old palace. 

* * *

 The place is deserted and boarded-up; Steve has to tear down several boards in order to enter.

Once inside, Steve finds the place dusty and covered in cobwebs. There’s something eerily familiar about the old palace. He can’t place it, but he thinks he’s been here before.

That vase looks familiar… and that table…

He finds himself wandering around the palace, a headache forming because so many of these things seem familiar, yet not. Like a memory from a dream.

Steve particularly almost-remembers the old ballroom, with its high vaulted ceilings, large plate-glass windows, and tapestries depicting various royal men and women. If he didn’t know better, he could swear he’s danced in this room before.

“HEY!” calls a voice from behind him.

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin.

“What are you doing in here!?” bellows the voice again.

Steve turns and sees the voice belongs to a handsome young man with blue-grey eyes and a cleft chin. He is struck by the man’s beauty for a moment and stands there, soaking it in.

Then, he starts to run.

“HEY!”

Steve hears footsteps pounding after him, gaining. He curses his tiny legs and his shitty lungs.

“Hey! STOP!”

Steve does stop, because he has reached a wall and needs to turn one way or another, but for a panicky moment, he can’t remember which way is out—right or left.

“Hey!” the man calls. “Wait a minute! Hold on!”

Panting, heart racing, Steve turns around, clenching his fists and jutting his chin up defiantly, sky-blue eyes flashing.

The handsome young man comes to a stop several yards away from Steve. “How did you get in …here?” The man blinks several times, as though startled.

Steve shrugs, still catching his breath.

The man’s companion, a rugged older man with reddish-brown hair and a tan trench coat, catches up and skids to a stop next to him, looking rather confused.

“Remy!” the handsome man stage-whispers. “Do you see what I see?” He points at Steve, who is feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the situation.

Remy is confused for a moment, then glances at where Bucky is pointing and gapes at Steve.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you Bucky?” he asks the one who is indeed Bucky.

“Perhaps,” answers the handsome man with the cleft chin. “Depends on who’s asking.” Bucky swaggers up the stairs, still staring at Steve.

“My name is Steve, I was told you could help me get to Paris.”

Bucky is circling around Steve, eyeing him up and down, grinning, yet apparently deep in thought. “Mmhmm,” Bucky affirms absently.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, uncomfortable with Bucky’s scrutiny.

Bucky is still grinning and circling him. “Sorry, Stevie—,”

“Steve.”

“-Steve. It’s just that, you look an _awful_ lot like…” Bucky gestures to the tapestry behind Steve, portraying the royal family. 

Steve turns around cluelessly, brows furrowed, wondering who it is he looks like.

“-Never mind. You said something about Paris?” Bucky pulls his companion, Remy, closer to him. His eyes are still on Steve though.

“Yes…?” Steve is still feeling rather unsettled.

Bucky nods. “And uh, what’s your last name?”

Steve plays with his long, bony fingers, self-conscious. “Um. Actually—this is gonna sound crazy, but—I don’t know my last name. …I was found wandering around when I was eight years old.”

“And before that?”

Steve sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s weird, but I can’t remember.”

“That’s… perfect,” Bucky says very quietly so only Remy can hear him.

“But I do have one clue to my past, and that’s Paris,” Steve says with more conviction, holding the necklace between his hands.

Bucky seems preoccupied. “Paris,” he repeats dumbly.

“Yeah. So? Can you help me or not?”

“Remy,” Bucky whispers, “Remy! Tickets!”

Remy fishes around his pockets and produces three tickets.

“You know,” Bucky says while Remy fishes around his pockets, “Oddly enough, we’re headed to Paris ourselves.” He takes the tickets Remy hands him. “We’ve got three tickets..” He waves them in front of Steve’s face. Then pockets them swiftly. “But unfortunately, the third ticket is for the prince.”

“The prince?” Steve repeats, eyebrows furrowed.

“Prince Steven Romanov.” Bucky grabs one of Steve’s arms and Remy grabs the other. They start walking him away from the tapestry.

“We ahre goin’ tuh unite de long-los’ prince wit’ his grandmothah.”

“You _do_ kind of resemble him.”

“De same blue eyes.” Remy pulls Steve’s face closer to examine his eyes.

“The Romanov eyes!” Bucky interjects, pulling Steve’s face in his direction.

“Nicholas’s smile!” Remy adds, reminiscent.

“Alexandra’s chin!” Bucky cups Steve’s chin and turns his face once more in his direction.

“Oh, look!” Remy exclaims when Steve reaches up to push Bucky’s hand away, grabbing Steve’s hand and examining it. “’e even has ‘is grandmother’s hands!”

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand to examine it next.

“’E is de same age, de same physical type..”

“Wait, wait!” Steve protests. “Are you telling me that you think _I_ am the long-lost prince?”

Bucky pulls Steve to a stop, facing him. “All I’m trying to tell you is that I’ve seen thousands of men all over the country, and not _one_ of them resembles the prince as much as you do.”

Steve looks from Bucky to Remy, to Bucky again. “That’s crazy.”

“Is it though? Stevie—Stevie.” Bucky places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, leaning too close for comfort. “You don’t remember what happened to you.”

“No one knows wha’ happened to ‘ _im.”_

“You’re looking for family in Paris.”

“An’ ‘is only family is in Paris!”

“You ever thought about the possibility?” Bucky wheels Steve around to look at the portrait of the royal family again.

“That I could be royalty?”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky and Remy affirm at the same time.

The prince Steven Romanov does resemble Steve rather a lot.

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of hard to think of myself as royalty when I’ve been an orphan my whole life.”

“But somewhere, one young man _is_ de prince.”

Bucky checks his watch. He seems impatient with something. “Really wish we could help, but the third ticket is for the long-lost prince.” He takes Remy by the arm and starts walking them away, leaving Steve staring up at the portrait.

“Whah didn’ you tell ‘im abou’ our brillian’ plan?!” Remy asks under his breath.

“He’s too honest. Look at that face.”

Remy stops walking to turn around and look.

Bucky grabs Remy and forces him to keep walking. “It’s a figure of speech,” he explains, rolling his eyes. “Look. All he wants to do is go to Paris. Why give away a third of the award money?”

“Ah’m tellin’ ya, we’re walkin’ away too soon!”

“Not to worry, I’ve got it all under control.” Bucky holds out a hand in front of Remy’s midsection. “Slower, slower…”

Behind them, Steve reaches out to touch the painting. His headache is coming back again. He wishes he could remember…

“Three, two, one.” Bucky counts down and points a finger.

“Bucky!” Steve calls, turning around.

“Righ’ in de palm of our hand,” Remy states quietly with a grin.

Steve scampers to the top of the staircase. “Bucky, wait!”

Bucky turns around slowly, feigning confusion. “Did you call me?”

Steve talks as he descends the staircase and approaches Bucky and Remy. “If I don’t remember who I am, and it all seems to make sense… who’s saying I’m not the lost prince?”

Bucky appears interested in whatever Steve has to say. “Go on…?”

Steve catches up to them. “And if I’m not the prince, then the empress will know right away, right? It’s all just an honest mistake.”

“Sound plausible,” Bucky agrees.

“But if you _ahre_ de prince,” Remy adds, placing a warm hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Den you’ll finally know who ya ahre an’ have yah’ family back!”

“You know, he’s right,” Bucky adds, stepping closer. “Either way, it gets you to Paris.”

“Right!” Steve reaches out to shake the hand Bucky has extended.

* * *

 High above their heads, in an unused upper-floor room with a darkened balcony, sits a small, chubby man with rounded glasses. “Prince Steven Romanov? Impossible!” he says quietly, so as not to be overheard. He leans over the railing, watching the trio walk across the dance floor, heads together in conversation. “All of ze Romanovs are dead. Zere is no way one of zem survived!”

Beside him, a blue reliquary with a tree root design is glowing. A dragon-like being formed of light and smoke slithers out of the bottle and spreads its wings near the bespectacled man.

The man gasps and reexamines the reliquary. “Oh… oh zis is not good. Active again after all these years? Could it be…?”

He peers over the balcony again, taking a closer look at the orphan boy.

More dragon-like beings slither out of the bottle and float near the man’s head. But he is too fascinated and horrified with the possibility of what is happening to notice when there are enough smoke beings to grab him and pull him through the floor.

He screams, unheard, as he is pulled through the portal that opens up, as he exits through the other side, as the portal closes and disappears behind him and the dragon-like beings drag him through a seemingly endless labyrinth of bones and rot.

The beings deposit him on a rocky outcropping near a pile of skulls.

“Who’s there!” demands an angry voice. The angry voice belongs to a man in tattered brown clothes. His entire head is red and looks like a skull. “Get out! GET! OUT!” He kicks over a pile of human remains as he stomps towards the shivering man with the glasses.

“S-Schmidt! Is that you?”

The angry man slows to a stop. “Zola?”

“Schmidt! You’re alive?!”

Schmidt’s mouth twists into an ugly smile. “In a manner of speaking.”

“How?”

“Why are you here?” Schmidt interrupts.

“S-something’s happened, herr Schmidt. Ze—ze lost prince! Steven Romanov! –I think he is alive!”

“ALIVE?!” Schmidt bellows into Zola’s face, holding him by the collar.

Zola timidly attempts to remove Schmidt’s hands. “Ye—yes sir! I saw him with my own eyes!”

Schmidt leans closer, his eyes burning. “Are you sure it was the prince.”

“As—as sure as I reasonably can be. Ze—ze reliquary, herr Schmidt.”

Schmidt releases Zola from his grasp and whirls around to face the reliquary. “Where did you get that!?”

“I have been keeping it for you, herr Schmidt. In honor of your death.”

Schmidt seizes the reliquary. “I sold my soul for this!” He stares at the glowing blue tube with awe and reverence.

“So.. glad I could return it to you.” Zola is not at all glad. He is terrified.

Schmidt’s fearsome face transforms into a grin. “This is the key to taking down the last of the Romanovs! Once I kill him, I shall return to my former glory, and nothing can stand in my way!”

Hundreds of dragon-like smoke beings pour from the blue cylinder, fluttering about the eerie space in an ever-growing cloud. Schmidt continues summoning them until the glow of the reliquary dims.

“Find him,” Schmidt orders.

The swarm of dragon-like beings flutter through a portal, leaving Zola and Schmidt to an eerie silence.

* * *

 Remy is sitting next to the luggage, leaving Steve and Bucky sitting next to each other on the train. Steve keeps playing with his necklace. And slouching. Both of which are driving Bucky crazy. “Sit up straight and stop playing with that thing!”

Steve sits up, frowning. “Why?”

“Because!” Bucky recovers and smooths back his hair. “Princes do not slouch.”

“How would _you_ know?”

“I make it my business to know.”

Steve’s expression turns skeptical, defiant, and apologetic all at the same time.

Bucky leans closer and lowers his voice. “Look, Stevie. I’m just tryin’ to help.”

“Bucky…”

Bucky leans closer. “Yes?”

“Do you really think I’m royalty?”

Bucky nods sagely. “Of course I do.”

Steve leans a little closer. “Then stop bossing me around!”

Bucky sits back as though slapped.

Remy muffles a snicker.

“Whose side are you on!” Bucky objects.

Remy shrugs and indicates the luggage next to him. “Ah’m on mah own side, mon ami.”

Steve smirks and looks out the window.

Bucky scoffs.

* * *

 Outside, a cloud of blue dragon-like smoke-beings approaches the train.

Remy is on his way back to their train car with a few snacks when he overhears a conversation stating that the travel papers are in red. He quickens his pace and closes the door behind him upon entering their compartment.

Steve is asleep on one bench. Bucky is sitting next to the luggage on the other, watching Steve sleep. There was a soft expression in his eyes which disappeared as Remy entered the car.

“Tha’s wha’ Ah hate abou’ this govahmen’,” Remy mutters. He shows Bucky his travel papers. “Everythin’s in _red.”_

“Red?!”

“We gotta get out of here fast, mon ami.”

“And where do you propose we go?” Bucky hisses.

“Ah don’ know! The baggage car or somethin’! The guards ahre gonna come aroun’ an’ check everyone’s travel papahs! We gotta be gone by den!”

Bucky starts gathering up the luggage. “Sounds as good a plan as any. Fuck! Red..!” he mutters to himself.

Remy takes a stack of luggage from Bucky and heads towards the baggage car.

“Hey!” Bucky shakes Steve’s shoulder. “Hey!” He shakes harder.

Steve starts awake, slapping Bucky in the face.

“Ow! What the fuck!” Bucky cradles his nose.

Steve sits up blearily, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh. What time is it?”

“Hell if I know!”

Steve frowns. “Bucky are you all right?”

Bucky rubs his nose and winces. His nose is red. “You’ve got quite the left hook!”

Steve blushes. “Oh.. Sorry.”

“Never mind that, just grab a suitcase and go.” Bucky helps Steve to his feet.

“Go? Go where?”

“Never mind! Just follow me!” Bucky grabs the remaining suitcases and leads Steve to the baggage car.

“The baggage car?” Steve observes, confused, upon their arrival.

“Ya didn’ tell ‘im whah we’re here?”

Bucky shushes Remy and smiles winningly at Steve. “I just.. hated to see you forced to mingle with all those commoners!”

Steve frowns, offended. “Bucky, I’m an orphan. And even if I _was_ a prince—or _am_ , I guess—isn’t that what good rulers do? Spend time with the people they’re ruling over? Get to know them? Understand the needs of their people?”

“Now ya’ve done it, homme.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s shoulder and steers him further into the baggage car. “All right, all right! There was a problem with our travel papers, all right? Nothing to worry about. We’ve got it all under control.”

“Which is why we’re in the baggage car.”

“..Yes.”

“Why is there something wrong with our travel papers?”

“Look,” Bucky hooks an arm around Steve’s bony shoulders. “Okay, so maybe our papers are a little old. We’d just hate to see your journey of self-discovery halted because of a few outdated pieces of paper.”

This calms Steve down. He can see that Bucky has a point.

Suddenly, there is a large explosion nearby, followed by a rush of air.

Bucky looks at Remy accusingly.

“It wasn’ me homme!” Remy points at the back of the car, where the rest of the train is slowly decelerating as they rush onwards. The door is flapping in the wind, torn away from its hinges in the explosion. Soon the door breaks off and tumbles off into the snow behind them.

“There goes the dining car,” Steve observes.

“Uh.. Bucky?” Remy prods, staring out the window towards the front of the train. “Someone has flambéed our engine!”

Alarmed, Bucky joins Remy near the front of the train car. They open the door and observe the overly hot engine, which is spouting fire as well as smoke. “You’re the pyromaniac!” Bucky accuses. “You figure it out!”

Remy rolls up his sleeves and climbs onto the engine. He is gone for less than a minute before returning. “There’s no one drivin’ dis train!”

Bucky pales. “Fuck!”

“We’re gonna have to jump.”

They both look at Steve, shocked for a second before realizing he’s right.

But upon opening the side door to the baggage car, they see nothing but snowy trees whooshing past at eighty miles per hour.

“We’ve gotta slow down first!” Bucky insists. He goes to uncouple the baggage car from the engine, but something (the little blue dragon-like beings) has forged the two cars together at the hitch. Bucky starts banging on the hitch with a wrench. “This isn’t strong enough! Give me an axe or something!”

Steve is looking around the baggage car for anything that can help. His eyes land on a box of dynamite.

Remy grins. “Good eye, mon ami!” He takes a lighter out of his pocket and lights one on fire, handing it to Bucky.

“Of _course_ you’d hand me that.” Bucky places the dynamite on the hitch and hurries back into the car to shield Steve from the explosion. Remy joins them and shields them both, still grinning.

The dynamite does the trick: the cars separate.

However, they are faced with another problem: the bridge is out. And so are the brakes.

“We’re gonna have to jump,” Steve repeats, looking a bit anxious.

Bucky sets his jaw. He hates the thought of Stevie getting hurt. “Hang on, we can still slow it down!”

“How?!”

Bucky casts his eyes around, searching for something. Anything!

His eyes alight on a hook attached to a heavy chain. “Hand me that,” Bucky says, climbing onto the underside of the train car.

Just then, the train car hits something, sending Remy off-balance. He lands in a box.

Noticing they are short on time, Steve grabs the chain and hefts it over to Bucky.

“Not you!” Bucky objects.

“Remy’s a little busy at the moment.” Steve hands Bucky the chain.

Unable to argue, given his current position and how quickly they are approaching the bridge, or lack thereof, Bucky takes the chain and hooks one end of it under the train car. While Bucky is under the train wrapping the hook more securely, a piece of metal ricochets off the bottom of the train. Bucky hurriedly finishes his job; Steve pulls him up. They are nose-to-nose, eyes wide, hearts pounding. They both look up when they hear a nearby tree split in half; the piece of metal crashed into it and sent the tree splintering into three parts, one of which has fallen across the tracks.

“And to think that could’ve been you,” Steve observes, face pale.

Bucky’s face is also pale.

Steve pulls Bucky back into the train car.

“If we live through this,” Bucky says, now slightly annoyed because yes that could’ve been him but it also could’ve been _Stevie_ , “remind me to thank you.”

Remy helps Bucky heft the chain to the back of the train car and push it out of the train.

“Here goes nothing,” Bucky says. “Brace yourselves.” He wraps himself protectively around Steve. Remy forms his own protective shell.

The hook catches on the tracks, breaks them, and sends the car screeching sideways across the tracks, still as fast as it was ever going.

“WELL,” Steve shouts over the noise. “LOOKS LIKE THIS IS OUR STOP.”

Bucky and Remy grab a few suitcases each, both wrap an arm around Steve, and together, they exit the train.

Not long after they’ve landed in the snow- with Remy breaking off to the side and Steve tumbling on top of Bucky, causing them both to blush- they hear a loud crash, followed by an explosion.

Bucky pushes Steve off of him. “I hate trains.” He helps Steve to his feet. “Remind me _never_ to get on the train again.”

* * *

 Schmidt is furious. “WHAT! THEY FAILED?!”

“Uh.. Herr Schmidt..”

Schmidt punches through a column made of human femurs. The bones shatter. “HOW COULD THEY LET HIM ESCAPE?!”

“Perhaps the Tesseract is not as powerful as it once was…”

Schmidt stares at Zola as though he has grown a second head. “The Tesseract is as powerful as it ever was. It is Steven that is too stubborn to die!”

“Perhaps there is another way to defeat him, sir.”

Schmidt looks as though he is about to pummel Zola into the bones around him, but then he gets an idea.

Zola’s blood chills.

* * *

 Steve, Bucky, and Remy trek across the countryside by various modes of transportation. Somewhere in Germany, Remy starts getting really lighthearted. Steve wonders what’s going on.

Remy twirls in a field overgrown with wildflowers and proclaims, “Johnny, mon amour! Remy’s on his way!” He picks a few wildflowers and grins at them.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Johnny?” He turns to Bucky. “Who’s Johnny?”

“Oh god here we go again,” Bucky mutters, unheard because Remy speaks over top of him.

“Who’s Johnny!?” Remy tucks a wildflower into Steve’s hair. “Johnny is a bonfire on a cold autumn night! Johnny is a firework on New Year’s Eve! Johnny is a firecracker full of heat and love and laughter!” Remy is now laying in the field of wildflowers and amorously contemplating a daisy.

Steve frowns at Bucky, still confused.

Bucky has been trying to shut Remy up, but to no avail. He’s only been able to get out parts of syllables.

“’e is de empress’s wondahful nephew!” Remy picks the daisy and inhales deeply.

“Oh. Do they live together?”

Bucky hedges a bit. “In a manner of speaking. Johnny is the person everyone has to go through to get to her. –Kind of like a security guard.”

Remy hums to himself and sets about making a flower crown.

Steve’s frown deepens. “Wait—you mean I might not even get to see the empress? Her nephew is going to tell me whether I’m the missing prince or not?”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder. “If you wanna think about it that way.” He leans closer. “But I’m telling you, you _are.”_

Steve seems doubtful for a moment.

“This is something you’ve gotta see through to the end, Stevie.”

Steve hugs himself self-consciously.

Remy plops a flower crown on Steve’s head. “There. Now ya look lahke a real prince.”

Steve gives him a half-smile, bemused.

“An’ Ah would know.” Remy leans closer conspiratorially. “Ah was a membah of de imperial court!”

“You?”

Remy nods, backs off, and sets about making another flower crown.

“There’s nothing left for you back there, Stevie.” Bucky slings an arm around Steve’s bony shoulders. “Everything is in Paris.”

Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes for a long moment, gauging their sincerity. “Well it’s not like I’m gonna turn around now.”

“Good!” Bucky smacks him on the back with a surprising amount of force. “We’ve got a lot to teach you!”

* * *

 Several countries and a lot of trivia later, Steve, Bucky, and Remy are on a ship.

“Here.” Bucky presents Steve with a small pile of folded laundry. “I bought you a suit.”

Steve blinks in surprise. “Bucky…”

Bucky blushes, uncomfortable with the sincerity in Steve’s eyes. “Just put it on.” He shoves the stack at Steve and walks away.

Steve takes the pile and smiles at it softly. He’s never owned anything this nice before.

On-deck, Remy and Bucky are playing chess. Bucky is losing badly and looking rather discouraged. Remy is completely nonchalant. “Yah’ move, mon ami.”

“Fuck.” Bucky moves a piece.

Remy moves another piece. “Check mate.”

It is at this moment that Steve appears on-deck, wearing the suit Bucky bought him and looking surprisingly clean-cut. Even _handsome._

Bucky gapes in surprise.

Steve smiles self-consciously. “You like it?”

“’e ought to like it. ‘e bought it,” Remy states from his reclined position, not really caring about his imminent victory in chess.

Steve is looking at Bucky. Bucky is still gaping at Steve.

Remy rolls his eyes, stands up, and brings Bucky over to Steve. “Ya shoul’ show ‘im ‘ow to dance, mon ami. De prince would know ‘ow to ballroom dance.”

“I—uh,” Bucky stammers, cheeks turning pink.

“You don’t have to..”

“Of _course_ he does, homme. All princes dance.” Remy claps his hands and starts tapping out a beat. _One two three, one two three_

Steve bites his lip and looks down.

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers.

Steve seems offended by the obscenity.

“He’s right.” Bucky’s heart is pounding. “Princes do dance.”

Steve swallows. “Lead the way.”

Bucky takes Steve’s hand and starts leading him in a simple waltz. Steve proves to be a very clumsy dancer; Bucky finds this endlessly endearing. The sun is setting behind them. Steve and Bucky are staring into each other’s eyes, dancing around in circles. Bucky doesn’t even care when Steve steps on his toes; the kid only weight ninety-some-odd pounds.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy,” Steve confesses self-consciously.

“Kind of light-headed?” Bucky adds.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” They stop dancing. “Probably from all the spinning.” He does not, however, let go of Steve’s hand, or his waist. “Maybe we should stop.”

“We have stopped,” Steve says softly, heart racing.

Bucky is staring at Steve’s lips, blue-grey eyes hooded; he’s leaning closer. “Stevie, I…”

“Yes?” Steve whispers.

“I…” Bucky leans a little closer, tilting his head.

“Yes?” Steve whispers more eagerly, leaning closer.

Bucky clears his throat and abruptly backs away. “You’re doing great.”

Steve is left wondering if he did something wrong, and Remy is left thinking Bucky is an idiot.

* * *

 “There he is, herr Schmidt,” Zola says, watching the projection cast by the reliquary. Steve is laying comfortably in a bed, eyes closed. “Fast asleep for the night.”

“Yes, we shall see how _fast_ he _dies.”_

* * *

 Several blue dragon-like smoke-beings fly into the room where Steve, Bucky, and Remy are sleeping. The beings transform into butterflies. Steve sits up to catch them, but they flutter away from his grasp. The butterflies start lazily fluttering towards the door. Steve sits up, gets out of bed, and walks after them, still fast asleep.

What he sees is a world of flowers and butterflies, and familiar faces he can’t place are swimming in a crystalline pool below and beckoning him to join.

What Bucky sees when he rushes onto the surface of the ship, roused by the sound of the door creaking open and startled by the absence of Steve, is the miniscule man standing on the edge of the ship, in a rainstorm, about to jump off the edge. “STEVE!!” he shouts.

Steve hears Bucky’s voice in his dream and turns around, confused. He doesn’t remember Bucky being there.

Suddenly everything around him transforms. The flowers wither away and reveal mutilated corpses and body parts. The friendly faces distort into nightmarish ghouls. One of them towers over him and commands him to jump. Another grabs him from behind. Steve struggles, kicking and punching to get away.

Bucky holds tightly onto the struggling Steve, pulling him down from the edge and saying his name over and over again. “Steve! Stevie, wake up!!”

Steve’s eyes shoot open. “The Romanov curse, the Romanov curse!” he repeats, frantic.

“What?!”

“I keep seeing faces! So many faces!” He hugs Bucky and buries his face in his chest, scared.

“Steve—” Bucky holds him. Steve is breathing heavily and crying. Bucky rubs his back soothingly and rests his cheek on Steve’s head. “It was a nightmare. It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

* * *

 Schmidt screams and shatters several nearby columns with his fists.

Zola cowers at a safe distance.

Upon shattering several skulls with one punch and striking a much bigger bone, the bone of who-knows-what, Schmidt suddenly calms. He removes his fist. “I’ll have to kill him myself.”

“What do you mean?”

Schmidt swivels to face Zola. “I’m going to kill the Romanov prince with my own two hands.”

“You mean… we are going to Paris?”

“Precisely.”

* * *

The empress Natasha Romanov interrupts the latest boy pretending to be Steven and dismisses him.

“Oop, sorry ‘bout that, you gotta go now, buh-bye!” Johnny wheels the guy out the door and closes it behind him.

“No more,” Natasha says quietly, rubbing her temples. “No more.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought that one surely was for real, well, I mean, he was real, like, he was human and all, but yeah. Sorry about that. Next time it’ll be the real deal!”

“No.”

Johnny pauses, surprised.

“I’ve had it up to here with idiots pretending to be Steven. He’s dead, Johnny. We may as well accept it and move on with our lives.”

* * *

Steve, Bucky, and Remy have arrived in France. What’s more, they’ve arrived at the residence they’ve been working towards this entire time. Remy knocks on the door, eyes sparkling. He’s wearing a spritz of cologne.

A maid answers the door and greets him flirtatiously in French.

Remy deflates a little.

Suddenly, the maid is pushed aside by a muscular arm. This arm is followed closely by an aged, yet still boyish face, topped with a shock of blonde hair. “Remy?!”

“Johnny!”

“Remy!!”

The two embrace; Remy buries his nose in Johnny’s neck. Johnny seems to be trying to crack all the bones in Remy’s back.

“Where have you been?!” Johnny demands, breaking away but not completely.

“Ah’m sorry Ah’ve been gone so long, mon amour. De cops were on mah tail, Ah ‘ad to lay low for a while.”

“In Russia?”

“..Eet is a long story.”

“Whatever, you can tell me about it later.” Johnny pulls him in for another embrace.

Bucky clears his throat.

Remy remembers why he’s there. “Oh!” He backs away, not completely letting Johnny go. “Ah’ve brought some guests.”

Johnny peers around Remy, only half-interested. “Bring them in,” Johnny instructs, pulling Remy in with him.

Remy comes quite willingly.

Steve and Bucky follow.

“May I present,” Bucky says, gesturing to Steve, who is wearing his suit once more, “the lost prince, Steven Romanov!”

Steve plays with his hands self-consciously.

Johnny blinks. “Fuck.” He looks Steve up and down. “Well… you do _look_ like him.”

What follows is a long interview, in which Johnny asks Steve a lot of trivia questions about Steven Romanov, and Steve dutifully answers all of them correctly. During this time, Remy and Johnny are always touching in some way, be it a hand on a shoulder, and arm around a waist, an arm around the shoulders, two arms around a waist… And Bucky is off in a corner of the room, observing the whole situation, anxiety churning in his gut.

“Alright, last question,” Johnny says after what seems like hours. “This has been bothering me for years— How did you escape during the siege of the palace?”

And that’s it. That’s it right there, Bucky thinks. Doomed. The whole operation is doomed.

Steve surprises them all when he appears deep in thought for a moment, then answers, “There was a boy. A boy, who worked in the palace. He opened a wall…” Steve can dimly see the memory, see the boy’s face, but not in detail.

None of them notice when Bucky’s expression changes from anxiety to wonder.

“Well?” Remy asks, nuzzling Johnny’s neck. “Is he a Romanov?”

“Well,” Johnny answers, grinning and slowly turning red. He pushes Remy’s face away playfully. “He answered every question.”

“Ya hear tha’ Steve?! Ya did it!” Remy hugs Johnny happily.

Johnny chuckles and hugs back.

“So when do we see the empress, mon amour?”

Johnny bites his lip and sobers. “Um… that’s the thing. She’s not really accepting people anymore… She kinda gave up on the whole Steven-being-alive thing.”

Steve’s face falls. “Oh.” His gaze lowers to the floor. “You mean we came all this way for nothing?”

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, feeling bad for the kid.

“Dere has to be some way, mon amour. Surely ya can think of somethin’.”

Johnny closes his eyes and frowns for a minute. Then abruptly opens his eyes. “Oh! Hey! Do you like the Russian ballet? Natasha just _loves_ the Russian ballet. They’re gonna perform in Paris tonight.” He hits every word in the next sentence with emphasis: “We never miss it.”

Remy grins.

* * *

“We did it!” Remy crows victoriously to Bucky, who is standing outside in the garden. “We’re gonna see the empress tonight! We’re gonna get 10 million rubles!”

“But Remy…”

Remy is still going on about how they’re about to be rich.

“Remy!” He does say, “Steve really _is_ the Romanov prince,” but Remy doesn’t hear him.

“Steve was fantastic! _Ah_ almost believed ‘im! An’ Johnny—!”

“Johnny wants to take us shopping for the ballet!” Steve announces from the door, head still spinning from everything that’s happened.

* * *

Remy is ecstatic to spend the evening with Johnny. The two of them spend most of the evening staring smittenly into each other’s eyes, holding hands, putting their arms around each other, and generally being gross and in love.

Bucky spends most of the evening looking at Steve with new eyes. Every moment Steve is smiling at him is another treasure for Bucky; he begins to wonder what he wants more—money, or more time with Steve.

Steve, meanwhile, is having the time of his life. He’s never spent so much money in one night. Johnny is a very generous host. He doesn’t care how much they spend. Remy and Bucky are taking full advantage of this; they have to keep convincing Steve to buy this or that. Every time Steven looks at Johnny to make sure it’s okay to buy something, Johnny is like, “Do you want it?  -Then get it!”

They arrive at the ballet, and Johnny and Remy are forced to part. Johnny has to go sit with the empress. Remy gives him a long, heartfelt goodbye, even though they promise to see each other again very soon. Maybe within the night.

When Remy and Bucky have a moment alone, Bucky confronts him again. “About what I was saying earlier… Remy. Steve really _is_ the lost prince. That thing he said about a boy opening the wall? That was me.”

Remy stares at Bucky. “…What?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “I always had the biggest crush on him back then. Always thought he’d end up taller.”

“So… yah’ tellin’ me… all this time, we was bein’ honest, an’ we didn’ even know it?”

“Kinda works out that way.”

“So… Steve really did fin’ his family.”

“Yup.”

“We ‘ave found de heir to de Russian throne.”

“Yup.”

“And you…”

Bucky knows that look. “-will walk out of his life forever.”

Remy frowns at him.

Bucky gives him a look. “Princes don’t marry kitchen boys.”

“Ah know, but—,”

Bucky shushes him. “We’re gonna go through this as though nothing has changed.”

Remy frowns. “Yah’ve got tuh tell ‘im.”

“Tell me what?”

They both turn in surprise to see Steve standing there, a few feet away, wearing a rather large coat which hides his outfit completely.

“How… adorable you look,” Bucky states warmly, thinking Steve is the most precious person in the world.

Steve blushes.

Bucky leads him inside.

Once Steve’s coat is off, revealing the fitted tuxedo underneath, Bucky can’t help gaping at him. Steve looks like an angel.

Steve, however, is not used to admiring glances directed at himself, and so is confused and uncomfortable. “You all right, Buck?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine.” But Bucky can’t stop staring.

* * *

The ballet seems to go on forever. Steve has second thoughts throughout the whole thing. Although he answered all the interview questions right, he still can’t remember who he is. He feels like he should know by now, but he doesn’t. He still can’t remember a thing before he was eight.

Bucky holds his hand in an attempt to soothe his nerves, but this does little to calm Steve down. He resorts to tapping his foot, or worrying his lip, or drumming the fingers on his free hand.

Once the ballet is finally over, Bucky leads him to where Johnny said the empress would be.

“I’m gonna announce you properly,” Bucky explains, turning to leave.

“Wait!”

Bucky stops and turns around.

“Look, we’ve been through a lot together. And… I just wanted to…” Bucky’s face is close. This gives Steve butterflies.

“Yes?” Bucky doesn’t know what he’s hoping for, but he’s hoping for something.

“Uh… to thank you,” Steve finishes lamely.

“Oh.” Bucky starts to pull away again. Then abruptly stops and turns back to Steve. “Steve, I…”

Steve looks hopeful. “Yes?”

“I, um…” Bucky forgot what he was going to say. Or maybe hadn’t planned it.

“…Yes?”

Bucky clears his throat and slaps on a smile. “I want to wish you good luck.”

“Oh.” Steve looks a little deflated.

Bucky reaches out to shake his hand. “Good luck.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and shakes it, holding on for a moment too long.

Bucky releases Steve’s hand. “Well, here goes.” He turns and disappears through a door. He’s so nervous, though, that the door doesn’t quite close all the way, and Steve can hear everything that transpires beyond that door.

“Please inform her majesty, Empress Natasha Romanov, that I have found her long-lost grandson.”

“I’m sorry,” comes Johnny’s voice with a near-audible wink, “But the empress will see no one.”

“You can tell that asshole that I have seen enough Steven Romanovs to last a lifetime.”

“Ah shit. You better go.”

“No, wait—!”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to live out the remainder of my life in peace.”

“Your majesty, I intend you no harm. My name is Bucky, I used to work in the palace.”

“Well, I haven’t heard that one. Congrats on being original,” comes the sarcastic voice of the empress.

“Wait! Don’t go, please hear me out!”

“I know what you’re after.” The empress sounds both angry and weary now. “I’ve seen it before—men training actors in the royal ways.”

“No, your highness, if you’ll just listen—!”

“Haven’t _you_ been listening? I’ve had enough! I don’t care how much this guy looks or acts like Steve. It’s _never_ Steve.”

“This time it _is_ Steve!!”

“Bucky,” the empress says coldly, “I’ve heard of you. You’re that con man from St. Petersburg who was holding auditions to find a Steven lookalike.”

Outside the door, Steve gasps, feeling as though he has just been punched in the gut.

“But your grace,” Bucky’s voice continues, “We’ve come all this way from Russia just to see you.”

“And others have come from Timbuktu.”

“No! It’s not what you think!”

“How much pain will you inflict on an old woman for money?” Her tone changes; she is addressing someone else now. “Remove him at once.”

“But he really is the lost prince! If you’ll just talk to him, you’ll see!”

Bucky is thrown out the door and deposited at Steve’s feet.

“It was all a lie, wasn’t it?” Steve has never been so hurt or so angry in his entire life.

Bucky pales. “No.”

“You used me? I was just part of a con to get her money?!”

“No! No, it may have started out that way, but I am telling you, you really are the lost prince!”

“Stop it!” Steve is near tears now. His fists are clenched. “From the very beginning, you lied!”

“Steve, please!” Bucky lays a hand on Steve’s arm. “That boy who opened the wall? Listen to me, that was—”

“No! I don’t want to hear anything about what I said or remembered! Just leave me alone!” He punches Bucky on the jaw and storms away.

* * *

Bucky is so hurt and pissed off and frustrated, when he sees the empress heading towards her car, he has had it. He climbs into the damned thing and drives her to the hotel where Steve is staying. And okay, so he’s driving a little fast.

“Rumlow, slow down!”

“I’m not Rumlow,” Bucky snaps over his shoulder. “And I’m not slowing down.” He squeals to a stop in front of the hotel and opens her door.

Natasha is frowning straight ahead, statuesque.

“You _have_ to talk to him,” Bucky insists.

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Bucky pulls the music box out of his jacket. “Do you recognize this?” He’s been carrying it with him ever since the night of the palace siege.

Natasha _does_ recognize it. “Where did you get this?”

In lieu of answering her, Bucky says, “I know you’ve been hurt, but have you ever considered the possibility that he’s been just as lost and alone as you?”

“You are one stubborn motherfucker.”

Bucky smirks. “Thanks. So are you.”

* * *

Inside, Steve is packing up his things and wondering what to do with his life. He’d thought he was on the right track, making new friends, having an adventure. When the whole time, they’d just been using him. He has no idea whether they even _liked_ him—especially Bucky. Steve feels sick. He can’t believe he let himself get sucked in like that.

Someone knocks on his door.

“Go away, Buck,” Steve says quietly.

He hears the door open and turns around, gritting his teeth, not at all looking forward to the prospect of facing Bucky and telling him he never wants to see him again, when he finds himself face-to-face with a very regal woman that could only be the empress.

“Who are you?” the woman demands.

“Um…” Steve lowers his head. “I was sort of hoping you’d tell me.”

The empress sighs. “Look. I’m old. I’m fed up with being conned and tricked. You look like you’ve had a rough life. Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me 10 million rubles doesn’t interest you?”

“I just want to know who I am,” Steve says quietly.

Natasha looks him up and down. “You’re a great actor, I’ll give you that.” She starts walking away.

“Peppermint?”

Natasha pauses. “An oil for my hands.”

“Yeah… I spilled the bottle… and the rug forever smelled of peppermint… like you.” Steve rubs his forehead. “And… and I missed you when you went away… to Paris…” He blinks rapidly, clutching his forehead. “I used to lie on that rug, because it reminded me of you…”

Natasha has turned around and taken a seat on a bench near the door. She pats the seat beside her, frowning.

Steve’s head is spinning. He sits down.

“What is that?”

Steve looks down at the necklace he’s always wearing. “This? I-I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

“May I?” She reaches out to touch the necklace. She brings the pendant toward her and reads it. “It was our secret—mine and Steven’s.” She produces the music box from her purse.

“The music box?” Steve rubs his forehead, almost remembering.

Natasha fits the pendant of the necklace to the music box, turns it to the side, and the top pops open. A familiar tune starts playing. Natasha starts singing.

Halfway through, Steve joins in.

“Oh Steven…! Steven, it’s really you!” Natasha sets down the music box and hugs him.

Steve cries in her arms.

* * *

Bucky bows before the empress Natasha Romanov. “You sent for me, your grace?”

Natasha gestures to an open box containing lots of money. “Ten million rubles, as promised.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “I, um… I don’t really want the money.”

“What do you want then?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “Unfortunately, nothing you can give.” He bows. “Glad you and Steve are happy.”

“Wait!” Natasha protests as Bucky tries to leave. “Where did you get the music box?” She steps closer. “It really was you, wasn’t it. The boy that got us out of the palace. You saved her life, and mine, and you’ve reunited us. And you don’t want _any_ reward?”

“Sorry. I don’t feel right taking your money.”

“Well. If you change your mind.” She closes the box and pats it. “It’s here.”

“Thanks.” Bucky walks out.

* * *

Remy is wearing royal garb and fixing his outfit in front of the mirror when there is a knock on the door. 

Bucky enters without waiting for permission. “If you’re ever in St. Petersburg again, look me up,” he says from the doorway.

“Yah’ makin’ a mistake.”

“Trust me,” Bucky says, looking anything but happy, “This is the one thing I’m doing right.”

“But-”

“I can’t stay. I don’t belong here.”

Remy sighs and hugs him good-bye. “Follow yah heart, mon ami.”

* * *

The party held in the palace celebrating the reunion of the empress and the lost prince is just as big and fabulous as one could expect of a royal gala. But although Steve is happy to have found his family, he is hanging back from the party.

“He’s not there,” informs Natasha behind her.

“Who’s not there?” Steve pretends not to know who she’s talking about.

Natasha gives Steve a look, then casts her gaze upon the swirling dancers. “You were born into this world of fine titles and glittering jewels. But I wonder if that’s what you really want?”

Steve frowns. “What else could I want? I know who I am. I have a family again.”

Natasha debates what to say next and settles for, “He didn’t take the money.”

“He—what?”

“Thought you’d like to know.” With that, she exits and joins the rest of the dancers.

Steve makes to follow her, but his mind is so busy, and he really doesn’t feel like dancing. Maybe a stroll in the garden will help him sort through his thoughts.

* * *

Meanwhile, at a nearby train station, Bucky is next in line when he decides he can’t go through with it after all. A life without Steve is just too painful. 

* * *

Steve hasn’t been walking long when he swears he keeps hearing strange noises. But every time he turns to confront the noise, there is nothing there. He keeps walking, blond head bent down low in the moonlight, hands in the pockets of his expensive coat, a frown on his face. Why would Bucky not take the money?

Suddenly, from nowhere and everywhere at once, an eerie voice calls Steve’s name. _He’s heard that voice before._

The garden around him starts growing out of control, thorns erupting into existence everywhere on tangled vines that are creeping towards him at an unnatural speed.

“Steven Romanov,” greets that eerie voice. It’s coming from a man in tattered brown clothes, carrying a glowing blue reliquary carved into a piece of wood shaped like the tree Yggdrasil.

“That face,” Steve whispers. The man’s face is red and skull-like.

“You are looking well. A bit on the small side, perhaps.”

“That voice.” Steve rubs his forehead.

“It should be easy to kill you. This time, I will not fail.”

“Schmidt!”

“Oh, you _do_ remember me. That will make it all the more satisfying when you _die at my hand!”_ Schmidt lunges at him. Steve dodges to the side. They play cat-and-mouse for some time, Steve struggling for breath, Schmidt using the Tesseract to control the garden around him.

Steve ends up on a bridge. Schmidt uses the Tesseract to form a horseshoe crack around Steve, breaking off the chunk of bridge he’s standing on. Steve takes a running leap towards the rest of the bridge.

“No one can save you now!” Schmidt boasts.

“Wanna bet?!” comes Bucky’s voice, from where Steve can’t see. But nearby.

Steve has caught hold of a metal bar protruding from the bridge. But neither Bucky nor Schmidt can see him from their positions on the bridge.

“It is too late, lover boy! Your precious Steven is already dead!”

“Steve! NO!!!” Bucky makes to jump off the bridge, but is stopped by a swarm of blue dragon-like smoke-beings.

“Long live the Romanovs!” Schmidt yells, laughing.

“You can say that again.” Steve has climbed back onto the bridge and is stalking towards Schmidt, furious.

“You sink you can defeat me?”

“I _know_ I can!” Steve tackles Schmidt to the ground and starts punching him. Schmidt soon gains the advantage and has Steve pinned under him, punching him repeatedly. Steve just keeps on fighting.

“You never give up, do you,” Schmidt sneers.

“I could do this all day.” Steve pants.

During the scuffle, the reliquary rolled out of Schmidt’s grasp and landed at Bucky’s feet. Bucky stomps on the damned thing.

Schmidt’s eyes go wide and he suddenly leaps away from Steve. “No!! What are you doing?!”

Bucky looks Schmidt dead in the eyes and stomps on the Tesseract as hard as he can.

Spiderweb cracks zigzag across the glassy surface.

Schmidt takes a running leap at Bucky.

Bucky stomps on the reliquary again. This time, it shatters.

Schmidt screams, gripping his face as he starts melting.

Zola watches from the shadows, unnoticed by anybody. He is relieved.

“Steve, are you all right?!” Bucky runs to him and cradles his fragile little body.

“I’m fine, Buck.”

“No you’re not, I saw how that guy was whalin’ on you, you are _not_ all right! You’ve got a black eye, a split lip, and you’re on the verge of an asthma attack. We’ve gotta get you inside. Come on.”

“Really, Buck, I’m fine. I’ve had worse than this.”

“Would you just _listen_ to me for once, Steve?! I busted my ass getting you to Paris, I didn’t even accept the fucking reward money because I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, and all this time I’ve been falling in love with you, and now that I finally get the opportunity to tell you, what happens?! You almost die!”

“Wait! Buck… You… you’re in love with me?”

“That’s what I just said, dumbass!”

“Bucky!” Steve launches himself into Bucky’s arms, hugging him tight.

Bucky blinks several times, not at all expecting that reaction.

“I love you too,” Steve whispers.

“You… wait, really?”

“Yes!” Steve is so happy, there are tears in his eyes.

Bucky examines Steve’s face for a minute. One side of his mouth turns up. “Well why didn’t you fucking say so!” He goes to kiss Steve, but they haven’t been kissing for long when the taste of blood worries Bucky too much. “Seriously though, we gotta get you checked out.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but complies.

* * *

One week later, Steve and Bucky are on a ship headed for America. Bucky always wanted to go there, and now that he’s rich, there’s really nothing stopping him.

Steve left a note for Natasha, outlining where they are going and why.

Natasha has read the note, raised an eyebrow, and set it back down.

“What’s that?” Johnny asks, arms around Remy’s waist, cheek pressed to his chest.

“A note from Steve.”

“What’s it say?”

“They’ve eloped,” Natasha deadpans.

“Oh, how romantic, mon amour!” Remy exclaims, holding him tighter.

“You never do anything like that with me anymore!” Johnny complains, pouting.

“Do what, elope? Dat is because we ahre already married.” Remy kisses the top of Johnny’s head.

“You’re all disgusting,” Natasha comments before walking out. She hears kissing sounds behind the closed door.

* * *

Night has fallen on the ship. Steve and Bucky have fallen asleep in each other’s arms and are smiling in their sleep.

On-deck, a cloaked figure stands facing out to sea, glasses glinting in the moonlight. He produces a reliquary carved into a representation of the tree of Yggdrasil; the glassy cylinder inside the tree is glowing faintly blue in the moonlight. He knew the Tesseract would not be so easily destroyed.

Zola ties the Tesseract to a weight and holds it over the ocean. “Never again,” he vows.

“How did you get ahold of that?” demands a booming voice behind him.

Zola spins around, clutching the reliquary. “Get what?” He tries to hind it behind his back.

The stranger’s features are obscured by a cloak, but his beard is visible- the color of roasted marshmallows- and his figure is imposing. He takes a step closer. “The Tesseract,” he explains simply. “I have long been searching for it.”

Zola holds the Tesseract over the edge of the ship again. “I have seen what can be done with zis. Forgive me for not trusting you.”

“I am not asking you to trust me.” Suddenly the stranger is upon him, his large hand enveloping the reliquary. “I am simply asking for you to return what is mine.”

Zola doesn’t trust the man for a second. He is too tall, too powerful to command something like that. Zola has seen what this thing can do. He refuses to witness it again. His grip tightens on the Tesseract. “Please. You don’t know what zis thing can do.”

“I am well aware of what the Tesseract is capable of,” the stranger’s booming voice reassures him. “Now please, give it to me. I do not wish to harm you.”

“No.”

The stranger sighs, pulls Zola into his chest, grips Zola’s arm with his hand, cutting off the circulation, and waits until Zola’s fingers weaken.

“You won’t get away with zis,” Zola is threatening while his fingers weaken. “I will find you. I will destroy ze Tesseract once and for all.”

The stranger unleashes a booming chuckle. “Foolish man. The Tesseract cannot be destroyed.” He relinquishes Zola’s grasp on the reliquary, backs up a few steps, pulls a large hammer out of his pocket, whirls it above his head, points it at the sky, and in a sudden flash of light, disappears.

Zola is left on the ship in the starlight, wondering “What have I done?”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If parts of this seem rushed, it's because I wrote the whole thing in one day and didn't feel like adding more detail. Y'all have scene the movie or ya wouldn't be here.


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